VOLUME #2 - EPISODE 3
[NARRATOR: There's a specific kind of chaos that happens when you trap a group of teenagers in a school overnight during a snowstorm. It's like taking all the concentrated energy of youth, adding cabin fever, and watching what happens when you remove adult supervision. Spoiler alert: it's never good. It's always hilarious. And sometimes, it gets violent. Today? All three.]
The Storm That Ate The World
The snow had started falling at lunch—gentle flakes that drifted past the windows like confused tourists. By final period, it had transformed into something biblical.
Riyura Shiko pressed his face against the classroom window, his breath fogging the glass, his star-shaped yellow pupils reflecting the white chaos outside. "That's... a lot of snow."
"THAT'S NOT SNOW!" Subarashī appeared beside him, his face equally pressed against the glass. "THAT'S THE APOCALYPSE! THE FROZEN APOCALYPSE! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"
"We're not going to die," Miyaka said from her desk, though she sounded less certain than usual. "The school has emergency protocols for this kind of thing."
"Emergency protocols include staying overnight," Cartoon Headayami announced, reading from his ever-present clipboard. "All buses have been cancelled. Roads are impassable. Students will shelter in the gymnasium until conditions improve."
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: Overnight. At school. With my recently-revealed psychotic brother who tried to justify assault last week. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm fine.]
He was not fine.
Yakamira sat in the back corner of the classroom, his silver hair catching the dim winter light, his white mask in place, his pale gray eyes fixed on Riyura with that calculating intensity that made Riyura's skin crawl.
They hadn't spoken since the rooftop incident. The broken nose. The blood.
[NARRATOR: Awkward family dynamics: check. Trapped in confined space: check. Brewing violence: double check. This episode is going to be a disaster. Let's watch.]
The Gymnasium Of Temporary Civilization
The gymnasium had been transformed into a makeshift shelter—sleeping bags spread across the floor like a patchwork quilt, emergency supplies stacked against the walls, and approximately two hundred students trying to figure out how to exist in close quarters without descending into Lord of the Flies territory.
Principal Jeremy Poleheadedsandwich stood on the stage, his suit immaculate, his posture perfect, his thermos conspicuously absent from his hands. "Students! Due to the severe weather conditions, we will be spending the night here. I expect mature, responsible behavior—"
Someone threw a paper airplane. It hit him in the face.
"—or at the very least, behavior that doesn't result in property damage or lawsuits," he finished, removing the plane from his forehead with butler-like dignity. "Emergency food will be distributed at six PM. Lights out at ten PM. Anyone caught causing trouble will face consequences that—oh dear, is that my thermos?"
A teacher was walking past carrying Principal Jeremy's emergency coffee supply. His eyes went wide. Comically, impossibly wide. "NO—" every student who'd witnessed the coffee transformation before said in unison.
Too late. Principal Jeremy lunged for the thermos with the desperation of an addict spotting their fix. He unscrewed it. Took a single sip. The transformation was immediate and catastrophic.
"WEEEEEEEE-YAAAAAHHHOOOOOOO!" He shrunk into his chibi form, began running in circles around the gymnasium so fast he left afterimages, bounced off the walls, did three backflips, and somehow ended up tangled in the volleyball net.
"I CAN TASTE TIME! TIME TASTES LIKE REGRET AND OPPORTUNITY!" "Should we help him?" a first-year student asked nervously. "No," everyone else said. "This is his natural state."
"He'll crash in exactly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds," Headayami confirmed, checking his watch. "It's always four minutes and thirty-seven seconds."
Sure enough, exactly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Principal Jeremy collapsed face-down on the gymnasium floor, unconscious, snoring peacefully.
[NARRATOR: With adult supervision temporarily neutralized, the students were left to their own devices. Which, at Jeremy High, meant chaos was about to become the official state religion.]
Winter Survival Games: A Stupid Idea By Stupid People
"ATTENTION, FELLOW SURVIVORS!" Subarashī stood on a pile of sleeping bags like a general addressing troops. "We face our greatest challenge yet! Trapped by nature's fury! Confined to this gymnasium of fate! We must prove ourselves worthy of survival!"
"We're literally just waiting for the snow to stop," Miyaka pointed out. "EXACTLY! Which is why we need WINTER SURVIVAL GAMES!" "That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard," someone shouted.
"WHICH IS WHY IT'S PERFECT!" Somehow—through sheer force of enthusiasm and the fact that everyone was bored out of their minds—Subarashī convinced half the gymnasium to participate in his ridiculous survival challenges.
Challenge One: Footwear Javelin
Shoehead stood at one end of the gymnasium, holding a sneaker like an Olympic athlete preparing for glory. "The rules are simple!" Subarashī announced. "Throw the footwear as far as possible! Whoever throws the farthest wins!"
"What do they win?" someone asked. "GLORY! And also this slightly dented juice box I found!" Shoehead pulled his arm back, his expression serene, his eyes focused on some distant point only he could see. He threw.
The sneaker sailed through the air with surprising grace, arcing across the gymnasium like a leather comet, and embedded itself in the basketball hoop with a satisfying thunk.
Everyone stared. "How did you—" Miyaka started. "Practice," Shoehead said simply. "I've been throwing shoes at things since I was six. You develop skills." "That's the saddest origin story I've ever heard," Riyura said.
"Thank you."
Challenge Two: Snowball Catapult Construction
Teams of students used whatever they could find—rulers, textbooks, rubber bands, and pure determination—to construct makeshift catapults for launching snowballs (gathered from just outside the gym doors) at targets across the room.
Yakamira, who'd been watching everything with his usual bored detachment, found himself drafted onto a team by Miyaka. "Come on, mystery brother!" she said with aggressive friendliness. "Show us what you've got!"
Yakamira looked at the pile of supplies. Then at the target. Then back at the supplies.
Without a word, he began constructing a catapult with mechanical precision—measuring angles, testing tension, calculating trajectory with the efficiency of someone who'd studied physics and engineering and decided to apply it to the stupidest possible purpose.
Ten minutes later, they had a catapult that looked like it could siege a small castle. "That's... actually impressive," Headayami admitted, making notes on his clipboard. "The structural integrity is exceptional. The weight distribution is—" Yakamira loaded a snowball, adjusted the tension, and released.
The snowball launched with such force it shattered the target, continued through the air, and embedded itself in the wall behind it with a crater-like impact.
Silence. "I think you won," Miyaka said quietly. "Obviously," Yakamira replied, his voice flat but his eyes holding something that might've been satisfaction.
[NARRATOR: For a brief moment—a fleeting, precious moment—Yakamira almost looked like he was enjoying himself. Like he was part of something instead of observing from the outside. Then he remembered he was supposed to be planning his brother's demise and the moment passed.]
Challenge Three: The Hallway Race
"FINAL CHALLENGE!" Subarashī announced as evening fell and the snow outside continued its relentless assault. "A race! Through the school hallways! First one back to the gymnasium wins!"
"The hallways are dark," Headayami pointed out. "And potentially dangerous." "EXACTLY! It's SURVIVAL GAMES! Danger is IMPLIED!" Riyura glanced at Yakamira, who was already standing, his pale gray eyes fixed on Riyura with that unreadable intensity.
"You racing?" Riyura asked, trying to keep his voice casual. "Yes," Yakamira said simply. Something in his tone made Riyura's stomach tighten. This wasn't about a race. This was about something else. Something unfinished.
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: Here we go. Whatever's been brewing between us—it's about to boil over. I can feel it. Like static electricity before a lightning strike.]
They lined up at the gymnasium doors—Riyura, Yakamira, Subarashī, and a handful of other brave (or stupid) students. "On my mark!" Miyaka held up her hand. "Three... two... one... GO!"
They exploded into the dark hallways.
The Race That Became A War
The school hallways at night were a different world—shadows pooled in corners like spilled ink, emergency lights cast everything in sickly green, and their footsteps echoed with hollow rhythm.
Riyura ran hard, his purple hair streaming behind him, his star-shaped pupils reflecting the dim lights. Behind him, he could hear Yakamira's measured footsteps. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just steady. Relentless.
Like a machine designed specifically for pursuit.
They rounded the first corner—Subarashī had already fallen behind, distracted by what he claimed was "a suspicious shadow that required investigation"—and now it was just the two brothers.
"Having fun?" Riyura called over his shoulder, trying to inject some levity into the tension. "No," Yakamira replied. "Great. Cool. Love the enthusiasm." They hit the second floor stairwell. Riyura took the stairs three at a time, his heart pounding, his breath coming in sharp bursts. Behind him, Yakamira matched his pace exactly.
Then Yakamira spoke, his voice carrying up the stairwell like cold wind: "You always do this." Riyura stumbled slightly. "Do what?" "Pretend everything's fine. Make jokes. Act like the world is one big performance and you're the cheerful host."
"I'm not pretending—" "YES YOU ARE!" The shout echoed through the stairwell like a gunshot. Riyura stopped running. Turned around.
Yakamira stood three steps below, his silver hair disheveled, his white mask slightly askew, his pale gray eyes burning with something Riyura had never seen before.
Raw, unfiltered rage. "You want to know the truth, brother?" Yakamira's voice dropped to something dangerous. "You want to know why I really came here?" "Yakamira—" "TO PROVE I'M BETTER THAN YOU!"
He lunged.
When Brothers Become Enemies
The punch caught Riyura in the jaw with brutal force. He crashed backward, slamming into the stairwell wall hard enough to crack the plaster. Pain exploded across his face. Blood filled his mouth.
"What the hell—" Riyura started, but Yakamira was already moving. Another punch. This one to the ribs. Riyura heard something crack. "You don't understand!" Yakamira screamed, his composure completely shattered. "You've NEVER understood! Perfect Riyura! Unique Riyura! Everyone's favorite weirdo with his stupid hair and his stupid bow tie and his stupid sunshine personality!"
He grabbed Riyura by the collar, slammed him against the wall again.
"While I—" His voice broke. "While I worked HARDER than anyone! Studied more! Trained more! Tried to be PERFECT in every way society demanded! And you know what I got?"
Tears streamed down his face behind the mask. "NOTHING! I got NOTHING! Because no one cares about the kid who's good at everything! They care about the kid who's WEIRD! The kid who's DIFFERENT! The kid who wears CHICKEN MASKS and somehow makes everyone LOVE him for it!" Riyura, through the pain, finally understood.
This wasn't about the race. This was about years of resentment. Years of watching from the outside. Years of being the "better" child that no one actually wanted.
"Yakamira—" Riyura tried to speak, but his brother cut him off.
"Don't!" Yakamira's fist connected with Riyura's face again. "Don't try to sympathize! Don't try to understand! You can't! You've always been the favorite! Always been the one people gravitated toward!"
He threw Riyura down the stairs. Riyura tumbled, his body hitting each step with sickening thuds, until he crashed at the bottom in a heap of pain and confusion.
Outside, the storm intensified—wind howling like wounded animals, snow hammering against windows with increasing violence, as if nature itself was responding to the brothers' rage.
Yakamira descended the stairs slowly, his footsteps measured again, his breathing heavy.
"Get up," he said quietly. "Get up and fight me. Prove you're not just some lucky idiot who stumbled into friendship." Riyura pushed himself up slowly, wiping blood from his mouth. His star-shaped pupils had gone dark again—that same darkness from the rooftop, that shadow-self that emerged when pushed too far.
"You want a fight?" Riyura's voice was cold. "Fine. Let's fight." They collided in the middle of the hallway.
The Violence Of Truth
What followed was brutal.
Not the choreographed action of movies. Not the clean exchanges of martial arts tournaments. This was desperate, ugly, violent—two brothers trying to hurt each other in ways that had nothing to do with physical pain and everything to do with years of unspoken resentment.
Yakamira's trained precision versus Riyura's raw fury.
They crashed through a classroom door, desks scattering, chairs breaking. Yakamira's fist connected with Riyura's ribs again. Riyura's knee found Yakamira's stomach.
Blood. Sweat. Rage. They fought through hallways, leaving destruction in their wake—broken windows, dented lockers, shattered glass from emergency light covers. "You think—" Yakamira gasped, pinning Riyura against a wall, "—you think you're so SPECIAL! So UNIQUE! But you're just ANNOYING!"
Riyura headbutted him. Yakamira's mask cracked, falling away to reveal the face beneath—so similar to Riyura's but colder, harder, carved from ice instead of warmth.
"And you think—" Riyura spat blood, "—you think being perfect makes you BETTER! But all it made you is LONELY!" The words hit harder than any punch.
Yakamira's eyes widened. Then narrowed with renewed fury.
He threw Riyura with superhuman force. Riyura's body sailed through the air, crashed through a door, and slammed into the wall of the janitor's closet with enough impact to knock the wind from his lungs.
Yakamira followed, stepping into the small space, breathing hard, his silver hair matted with blood and sweat. The door slammed shut behind them.
Darkness. Just the two brothers. Surrounded by mops and cleaning supplies and years of unspoken pain.
The Truth That Destroys Everything
"You want to know the real truth?" Yakamira pulled out his smartphone, the screen's light casting harsh shadows across his bloodied face. "The truth our mother kept from you?"
Riyura slumped against the wall, every part of him screaming in pain. "What truth?"
"We're not half-brothers." Yakamira's voice was flat now. Empty. "We're full brothers. Same mother. Same father. The whole 'different mothers' story? A lie. Something our mother concocted to keep you in the dark."
The words hit Riyura like another punch. "What?"
"You heard me." Yakamira scrolled through his phone, showing messages—conversations between him and their mother, dated months back. Plans. Schemes. Lies constructed with meticulous care.
"She only cared about me at first," Yakamira continued, his voice hollow. "The older brother. The smart one. The one who got good grades, concentrated on being 'mature,' on being a 'great member of society' instead of a—" his voice dripped with venom, "—crazed weirdo who saw the world in rainbows and sunshine."
Riyura stared, unable to process what he was hearing. "I worked SO HARD!" Yakamira's voice rose again, breaking. "Harder than everyone! I wanted to prove that being calm like me, being a loner like me—that it was VALID! That loners shouldn't feel alone! That I deserved to be seen!"
His hands shook.
"But despite everything—despite all my achievements, all my perfection—everyone preferred YOU! Your 'unique personality'! Your stupid optimism! Your ridiculous chicken masks!"
He laughed—a broken, bitter sound.
"I wanted to be seen by you too, Riyura. My brother. I wanted you to talk to me, play with me, NOTICE me. But you never did. You were always in your own chaos, making friends, being weird, and everyone LOVED you for it!"
Yakamira's eyes glistened with tears.
"So I thought—if I can't be like him, if I can't make people love me by being myself—then maybe I can PROVE I'm better. Prove that his way is wrong. That MY way—the disciplined, controlled, perfect way—is superior."
"Yakamira—"
"And our mother?" Yakamira's voice dropped to something venomous. "She started liking YOU more over time. The son she initially tolerated became her favorite. Because you had 'potential' she said. Because you were 'special.'"
He showed more messages—their mother's words, praising Riyura, making plans with Yakamira to "keep him humble," to "not let him know how special he was."
"She kept working with me though," Yakamira said. "Her little conspiracy partner. Even came up with the fake adoption story, the different bloodline nonsense. All to keep you controllable. To keep you from knowing you were actually the successful one."
Riyura's world tilted. "Mom... did this?"
"She did. But you know what the worst part is?" Yakamira's voice broke completely. "I think she eventually got tired of me too. Just like Father always was. They saw me as the successful experiment that didn't need attention anymore. While you—YOU got all their secret pride. The experiment stuff is just a made up metaphor for are strange relationship by the way. And yet she still continued to follow my plans only to spite me. Even though she was basically off track with are former plans at that point. Just because I'm her son."
He slumped against the opposite wall.
"So I left. Pretended to get 'adopted.' Honed my skills—the awareness, the dangerous techniques—all to protect myself. Because my life took a turn I never asked for. And now everyone thinks I'm some sinister freak when all I wanted—" his voice became a whisper, "—was to be SEEN!"
Silence filled the janitor's closet. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, two brothers sat in darkness, bleeding and broken.
When The Host Fights Back
Riyura wiped blood from his face slowly. His star-shaped pupils—still dark, still burning—fixed on his brother. "You're right," Riyura said quietly. Yakamira looked up, surprised.
"You're right that I don't understand everything you went through. That I can't know what it's like to work that hard and feel invisible." Riyura pushed himself up despite the pain.
"But you're WRONG if you think I've always been happy just because I'm 'unique.'" His voice took on an edge Yakamira had never heard before.
"Before Jeremy High? I was BULLIED. Constantly. You know why? Because I was different. Because I wore stupid hair clips and crooked bow ties and saw the world differently. And those bullies—they pretended to be my friends. Made everyone else think they liked me. Then tortured me in private."
Riyura's hands clenched into fists.
"They called me their 'play thing.' Used me for entertainment. Made me think I had friends while destroying me piece by piece. And I couldn't fight back—didn't know HOW to fight back—until one of their 'pranks' went wrong and I ended up transferring to Jeremy High."
His voice rose.
"I was TERRIFIED of this place! Scared it would be the same! That I'd be the weird kid everyone used and threw away! But then I met Subarashī, Miyaka, Shoehead, Headayami—people who were ACTUALLY weird, who ACTUALLY accepted me—and something changed."
Tears streamed down Riyura's face now. "They erased the darkness inside me. Not all of it—you've seen it, when I get pushed—but most of it. They made me feel like being strange wasn't a weakness. Like kindness wasn't stupidity. Like TRYING to see good in the world wasn't naivety but STRENGTH!"
He stepped toward Yakamira. "So don't you DARE tell me I don't understand pain! Don't tell me I've had it EASY just because I smile! This—" he gestured at his face, his bow tie, his whole ridiculous appearance, "—this is ARMOR! This is how I SURVIVED! By choosing joy even when the world gave me every reason to give up!"
The words hung in the air like electricity.
Yakamira stared at his brother—really seeing him for the first time. Not the cheerful host. Not the annoying optimist. But someone who'd been broken and chose to rebuild himself differently.
"I do feel bad for you," Riyura said, his voice softer now. "I do. And I wish things had been different. I wish Mom hadn't lied. I wish I'd known about you sooner. I wish—" He paused.
"—I wish you'd learned what I learned. That working hard to fit someone else's definition of 'perfect' will ALWAYS leave you empty. That being seen isn't about being better—it's about being GENUINE."
Yakamira's face crumpled. "But I don't know HOW to be genuine. I spent so long being what everyone wanted—" "Then learn," Riyura said firmly. "With us. With people who'll accept you even when you're messy and imperfect and don't have all the answers."
Outside, the storm began to quiet. As if their confrontation had somehow appeased whatever cosmic forces controlled winter weather.
Yakamira looked at his brother through tears. "I wanted to kill you." "I know." "I planned it with Mom. This whole transfer was supposed to end with your death."
"I figured." "How can you—after everything I've done—how can you still—"
"Because," Riyura said, offering his bloodied hand, "you're my brother. Full brother. And I don't give up on family. Even when they're idiots. Even when they try to murder me. Even when they're insufferable perfectionists who need serious therapy. Though I'm still gonna have to confront mum about this after."
Yakamira stared at the offered hand. Then, slowly, he took it. They pulled each other up—two bloodied, broken brothers standing in a janitor's closet, surrounded by cleaning supplies and the debris of their violence.
"This doesn't fix everything," Yakamira said quietly. "I know." "I'm still angry." "That's fair." "And I still think your bow tie is stupid." Riyura laughed—a real laugh despite the pain. "It IS stupid. That's the point."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Yakamira said something that surprised both of them: "Teach me." "Teach you what?" "How to be like you. How to..." he struggled with the words, "...how to be genuine. How to make friends without trying to prove something. How to exist without feeling like I'm in constant competition." He said it all with an embarrassed face. True emotions finally showing themselfs in Yakamira.
Riyura smiled—his real smile, the one that had survived bullying and trauma and violence. The one that chose light even in darkness. "Deal. But first—" he winced, touching his ribs, "—we need to get these injuries checked. Pretty sure you broke something important."
"You broke my nose. More." "That's becoming our thing, huh?" "Apparently." They opened the janitor's closet door. The hallway outside was empty—the storm had quieted to gentle snow, and somewhere in the distance, they could hear their friends calling their names.
"Riyura! Yakamira! Where are you?!" "Should we tell them what happened?" Yakamira asked. "Parts of it," Riyura said. "The important parts. Not the matricide conspiracy stuff. That's... a lot." "Fair." They limped down the hallway together—two brothers who'd tried to destroy each other and somehow found something resembling understanding instead.
[NARRATOR: And so ends the Winter Survival Games—not with a race winner, not with a dramatic victory, but with two broken people choosing to rebuild together. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't clean. But it was genuine. And sometimes, that's enough.]
EPILOGUE: Morning Light Through Winter Windows
Dawn broke over Jeremy High with crystalline beauty—the storm had passed, leaving everything covered in pristine white, as if the world had been given a chance to start over.
The gymnasium stirred with waking students. Principal Jeremy had recovered from his coffee-induced chaos and was coordinating cleanup with butler-like efficiency.
Riyura and Yakamira sat side by side on a bench, wrapped in blankets, sporting matching bruises and bandages. The nurse had been horrified but professional.
Their friends gathered around—Subarashī explaining his "suspicious shadow" theory, Miyaka filming everything for posterity, Headayami making notes about building code violations, and Shoehead quietly eating what appeared to be a snow boot. "So," Miyaka said carefully, "you two seem... better?"
"We had a conversation," Riyura said. "A violent conversation," Yakamira added. "Very violent." Riyura added. "Extremely violent." Yakamira responded. "Are we going to get details?" Subarashī asked hopefully.
"No," both brothers said in unison. They looked at each other. Then actually smiled—small, genuine smiles that suggested maybe, possibly, they might figure this whole "being brothers" thing out eventually.
"Fair enough!" Subarashī struck a victory pose. "THE POWER OF SIBLINGHOOD PREVAILS!" "That's not a word," Headayami said. "IT IS NOW!" As the sun rose higher, painting everything in shades of gold and white, Riyura felt something settle in his heart. Not resolution—this wasn't a fairy tale where everything fixed itself overnight.
But possibility. The possibility that broken things could be repaired. That family could be chosen and re-chosen. That even when you wanted to kill your brother, you could choose something different.
His phone buzzed. A message from his mother: "We need to talk." Riyura showed it to Yakamira. His brother's expression hardened.
"Later," Yakamira said. "That conversation happens later. When we're both ready." "Agreed." They sat in silence, watching their weird, wonderful friends create chaos from nothing, choosing joy despite exhaustion, being exactly who they were without apology.
And for the first time since arriving at Jeremy High, Yakamira understood what his brother had been trying to tell him. Being genuine wasn't about being perfect. It was about being present.
[NARRATOR: Thus concludes our winter survival adventure—with broken bones, revealed conspiracies, brotherly violence, and the tentative beginning of actual sibling bonding. Next episode: we deal with the mother situation. Spoiler alert: it's going to be messy. But then again, everything at Jeremy High is messy. That's what makes it worth the chaos. A new character. Yep that's right, at least at the end of the next episode.]
TO BE CONTINUED...